Casting 03 Mar 2013

Since Fabio Luisi abandoned ship three years ago, Dresden
Semperoper has been without a music director. (Christian Thielemann is chief
conductor of the Staatskapelle orchestra, a position technically without opera
or management responsibilities). And for more than a year there’s been no
artistic director either; when the late Ulrike Hessler’s illness became serious,
her place as Intendant was ‘temporarily’ filled by the commercial director, a
position he still holds.

The story is of the great warrior Orlando, who neglects his army duties to focus on his unrequited love for the minxy Angelica, is sent mad by her preference for the mysterious Medoro, and is finally reconciled to his military destiny by the intervention of the magician Zoroastro. This improbable tale would have seemed rather more reasonable in Handel's day, when madness wasn't understood in a medical sense, and magic was an object of interest rather than cynicism.

Today it needs some re-imagining to be taken seriously in a dramatic sense. Here it probably gets more than it strictly requires, and anyone demanding fidelity to the original text might have been disappointed. Myself, I ask for nothing more than entertainment, and I was not disappointed.

In the first act we see Orlando playing out his choices on the video screen of his mind. Filling most of the screen we see strict ranks of marching soldiers kitted out in shiny jackboots and form fitting jodhpurs. Shoved into one corner are images of messy domesticity, all babies and ironing. Exactly what sort of choice is Orlando making here? It becomes clearer as the action progresses through a series of ever more kitsch scenery and delightfully superfluous costume changes. Handel's woodland hut is translated as a motel and its occupant Dorinda switches inexplicably from her initial Rosa Klebb get up into a miniskirt and red patent thigh boots, ready to perform services Handel never dreamed of. GI Joes in blue camo fatigues muscle in at the least excuse, most memorably to to wheel in a fleet of gigantic erect missiles (something for the girl with everything?).

The imagery owes a lot to that connoisseur of insanity Stanley Kubrick, and mostly makes as much sense as his masterpiece 2001. Which is to say that one 'gets it' without understanding entirely why.

The superb cast responded to the quick change high energy of the production with fully wired perfomances, a million miles from the bloodless warblings Handel is so often treated to. David Daniels as Orlando was in full vocal health and on top form, every note not only in its right place, but energetically projected. He was the magnetic and inevitable centre of the production every time he stepped on stage. His final entrance, mounted on a sort of gigantic cannon-sporting mechanical spider (sorry, no idea), complete with ear-splitting explosion, was the single most unforgettable moment of the night.

Rosemary Joshua as Angelica was appropriately manipulative, her costume changes - Paris Hilton to equestrienne to Barbie princess - signifying her slippery character, and the sweetness of her voice serving her well. Olga Pasichnyk's Dorinda and Alastair Miles's Zoroastro handled the cartoon humour and the more serious side equally well. Miles's surprisingly agile bass was easily up to the demands of Handel's coloratura. Beth Clayton as Medoro drew the short straw costume-wise, wrapped in the flowing robes and turban of the mujahadin (the lure of the exotic? who knows) throughout, but provided convincingly masculine authoritative support.

The small orchestra under Ivor Bolton was magnificent, thrilling and spirited, mindful of the singers' needs but always ready to launch out dramatically. Their vigorous approach easily matched the energy of the production.

The massive applause and multiple curtain calls that ended the night were no more than this brilliant production deserved.